


[kink# 11: no speaking]

by winchestersinthedrift



Series: 100 Kinks Challenge [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Grinding, Kissing, Silence Kink, Teen Sam, i think that's the best tag for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	

There are two bodies sleeping in the den, one on the floor and one on the couch, and she stops in the doorway and blinks, confused. Then the one on the couch sits up on his elbows and - _oh_. Her brain takes a minute to supply the name - Sam - but her body know his shape at once, the long uncurl of his torso from his shoulders, the hair over his cheekbones as he looks across at her. He and his brother and dad had stayed for a couple of days last fall - her father knew them, or used to. He was vague. She hadn’t cared, had spent the two days making out with Sam in the basement. He’s made her come through her panties, twice, long fingers catching a little in the damp cotton. He’d be …17 now, and he’s looking across the room at her and his face is surprised and wide open and a little, tiny bit rakish, eyebrows up, the corner of his mouth crooked into ‘oh, _you_!’

She glances again at the floor and then at the door behind her but there’s nowhere really to take him - just the kitchen out here and the thin walls between it and her dad’s bedroom and it’s snowing outside, not nice Disney snow either but the sleet-y kind that will have the roads snarled in the morning. Sam’s still looking at her, all long limbs askew under an old flannel blanket, eyebrows still cocked up but the dimples taking the edge off them. He’s shirtless, which she’s never had him before, and the blanket slips down and she can see the threadbare hem of his shorts. He faux-kisses at her and that does it, he’s trying not to laugh out loud as she steps over Dean and slides soft onto the edge of the couch in front of him. He’s still half-reclining, snakes an arm right round her waist and pulls her against him so her lower back is pressed up close to his chest. She can feel him breathing skin to skin where her tank top is hiked up.

She turns into him, opens her mouth to whisper, but Sam puts two fingers inside, over her tongue, and tips his head towards Dean sleeping on the floor, makes an exaggerated miming of silence. She hardly notices, cause his fingers are sliding into the side of her mouth and the pleasant fuzz of anticipation just coalesced into a tugging ache in her belly. She nudges against him, and he lifts up his body a little so she can slot in against him, half her body under his, facing upwards so that he’s leaning over her. He lets his body down, slow, onto hers, not his full weight but enough that she feels it, the warm heaviness of his limbs and the hard line of his cock wedged up tight against her hip. 

For a second they smile at each other in the darkness, delighted, breathing heavy. Dean makes a noise and rolls a little sideways in his sleep. She puts up a hand and pulls him down into a kiss and it’s hard, it’s _hard_ not to moan with his tongue inside her mouth and his hand up inside her shirt, but she does it, keeps quiet and presses her hips up against him, lets her knees fall apart and nudges him in between them so he’s full on top of her, elbows on either side of her shoulders, one hand in her hair, kissing and kissing her and rolling his hips up urging and hungry between her legs. The blankets pull over as he rolls and the air’s colder for a minute against her skin. 

Sam wriggles his shorts down over his thighs so his cock can grind right up against the wet fabric of her panties and she makes a tiny choked noise into his mouth. He hums, happy, and she feels it down her throat and in her skull and lets her hands wander up his back, soft over the flexing weight of his lovely shoulders, and there’s sleet at the windows and a wet sundering shudder down through the quick of her.


End file.
